


Restless

by scoottt



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoottt/pseuds/scoottt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An away mission goes awry, and the results are less than welcome. They do, however, form a bond to last a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An atmosphere comprised nearly the same as that of Earth surrounded the away party, though it appeared above them in an orange haze. They were atop a tall bluff with a harsh, sudden drop-off. The ground was covered in coarse, scraggly grass that was sparse and browning. Every few metres or so, there would be some sort of shrubbery, its leaves barely clinging to it, branches brittle and seemingly porous. Towards the edge of the cliff, they thinned out, growing farther and farther away from one another. Beyond the edge, below them, was a more solid field of the grass that wilted beneath their shoes.

The planet appeared to be dying.

Two figures stood mere inches apart, while others were all over the area, picking at the bushes. One of the bodies within close proximity to the other spoke. “Jim, why the hell are we here?”

The question was met with a raise of a thick eyebrow and eventually a disbelieving chuckle. “You really don’t read those debriefings on the PADD, do you, Bones?”

“Don’t see why I should,” came the reply as the Enterprise’s very own senior medical officer shrugged, looking out again over the expanse in front of them, eyeing the ensigns that continued to work diligently. “Seriously, what are we doing here?”

“Collecting samples,” Jim responded, rolling his eyes at the heavy sigh that came from his companion beside him.

“And you needed the CMO why? Collecting samples isn’t much of a risky task. You could have had any other medical personnel come with,” Bones chided. His gaze returned to the captain, arms crossing over his chest. Up on the starship, he had a patient battling a severe case of Andorian shingles. But no, here he was, idly observing as an array of redshirts picked away at the bushes and grasses.

Five redshirts and one yellow shirt.

Ensign Chekov had reserved himself a spot on the majority of minor away trips, due to his restless leg syndrome that Bones had diagnosed just a few months prior. Sure, he could run the track mindlessly on his off time, but long, dragging shifts at the navigation panel created a horrible need to jitter his legs, which distracted both the ensign himself and the rest of the bridge crew. So now, whenever he was available, he was given permission to pop down with the away team to alleviate some of his symptoms.

“Aw, Bones, we’re having bonding time right now.” Jim’s voice jolted him violently back from his thoughts. 

Ignoring the strange look that Jim gave him due to his jarring trip back to conversation, the CMO commented, “Wow. Touched, Jim, I really am. But I have more pressing matters to attend to in the bay.” He scoffed at the frown that blossomed on his face. Jim could be such a kid. For a few moments, they merely stared at each other.

Jim budged first, however, not fond of the scrutinising gaze of his friend. “I’ll have them beam you back up.” The captain’s hands flitted down to his communicator, flipping it open and raising the receiver to his mouth in one fluid movement. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

Bones’ attention returned to the environment and those six ensigns who were gathering all they could from it. What were the samples for? He wagered that they were to figure out exactly what was killing the vegetation of the planet.

“Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.”

Dr. McCoy was pulled away from his thoughts once more by the man beside him, brow creeping towards his hairline. Hadn’t he already hailed the ship? 

“Kirk to Enterpr – ah, fuck it, they’re not answering,” Jim huffed, communicator flipped shut and quickly returned to its home. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Bones.”

The CMO opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by a short, startled scream, and suddenly his senses were much more alert. Stance becoming slightly defensive, Bones scanned the bluff yet saw nothing out of the ordinary. No monstrous alien creatures bearing down on them, no noxious gasses pouring down over them, nothing. There had to be something he missed, and he continued to survey the surroundings while Jim cussed beside him and tried once more with the communicator. That’s when it hit Bones.

Six ensigns had become five.


	2. Chapter 2

It had all happened so fast, just a mental blur, a blur much like the scenery that whizzed past his head. One moment he had been carefully handling a specimen – a leaf reminiscent of a maple leaf on Earth – to place into the collection bag, and the next, he was soaring through the air. Except, he wasn’t soaring – he was falling, and he was falling fast. 

The scream had come as an afterthought, a release of the fear he felt as he braced himself for the moment that he hit the ground like a ragdoll, figurative stars bursting in front of his eyes as his occipital lobe was jarred as his head hit the ground.

Good thing his entire body broke the fall.

When the stars had passed, his grey eyes were out of focus, staring up at the sky as the ensign fought for the breath that had been forcefully knocked out of his lungs. From the edge of the bluff above him, he could hear his name being shouted in concern. However, the various array of “Chekov”s that filled the air didn’t help the panic that was setting in. What if he broke everything in his body? The navigator was afraid to even attempt to move his limbs, so he instead lay as still as he could.

Since the others of the away team didn’t take the express route down as he had, moments ticked away slowly as they found a way down to his crumpled form. After what felt like a million years had passed, they were all crowding around him, questioning what had happened, was he okay, et cetera. All he managed to murmur was, “Part of ze ground crumbled from benea’z me, a – and I fell.”

Suddenly there was a holler above the rest, easily recognised as a command by the CMO. “Get away from him! Don’t touch him!” Chekov didn’t hear the rest – something about how moving him wrong might hurt him more? – as he screwed his eyes up and tightly shut them, trying to will the pain away.

Due to this, the seventeen-year-old didn’t notice when the ensigns moved away, Dr. McCoy instead replacing them at his side. Only when the man barked out “look at me, kid” did Pavel dare open his eyes, as if seeing things would damage him more. When he did open his eyes, his vision was met with one Leonard Horatio McCoy’s face just inches from his own.

Deft fingers tugged the eyelids of one eye farther apart as the medical officer examined the pupil, mumbling something about it being dilated as he sat back on his haunches. The trusty tricorder at his side was looped over his head as he began to run it over Chekov, checking the young male’s vitals. “Well, Pavel, you’re not bleeding everywhere inside, so that’s good,” Leonard muttered, snapping the device shut.

Pavel winced at the dry humour, forcing his eyes to focus, focus, focus on the man beside him. If his attention was trained on something else, then perhaps the pain would lessen. Gateway-control theory, right?

In his peripherals, the figure of their captain came into view as he crouched down next to his frowning CMO. “You still alive, kid?” Bones agitatedly nudged Jim with his elbow, Pavel could see, and the teenager forced a smile.

“I am fine, keptin,” he whispered, whether to assure the command officer or himself unknown.

“Fine is relative,” Bones grumbled, drawing Pavel’s attention once more. “Concussed is what you are. Now, move your fingers for me, would you?” As each digit was wiggled in response, the doctor nodded, glad they still functioned. That was quite a fall. “Good. Sit up and move your feet.”

The ensign’s mouth went dry, completely parched as a realisation hit him hard and fast. “A – actually, I cannot feel my legs.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters keep getting shorter and shorter as I get more and more tired ahaha. This is the last one for tonight, though.

“Jim, try hailing them again,” Bones ordered, shooing him away a bit. Didn’t need the oaf bumping into the crippled ensign and worsening the problem. God, how he hoped the disability was temporary. If he got him onto the ship quick enough, perhaps he could fix him up, make him new again. But, honestly, he didn’t even know if that was possible. All they could do was wish for the best. “Now, Pavel, I’m going to sit you up. Let me know if I need to stop.”

Leonard could see the fear in the teenager’s mind as he nodded warily, keeping an air of confidence about him despite it all. Grabbing him by the yellow-shirted shoulders, McCoy began to slowly, carefully lift his torso from the dead, uncomfortable ground. He ignored the chattering on the group of ensigns about ten feet away, determined to manoeuvre Chekov safely, not wanting to complicate the injury. 

However, when the navigator in his grasp inhaled sharply and pleaded with him to stop, he stilled his movements. Tears were clinging to the teen’s lashes as his hands furled into fists, nails cutting his palms to try to pull some of the pain away from his spine. With as much caution as he could possibly exercise, McCoy shifted so he was on his knees, placing Chekov’s head in his lap. Pavel winced once more but said nothing.

Calling out to Jim, his threaded his fingers through the navigator’s curls in a way he hoped was soothing, needing to keep the male calm, “Damn it, man! Have you reached them yet?”

Jim neared them once more, sighing heavily. With a negative shake of his head, the captain dismissed that idea, and Bones could feel his hope for a positive outcome diminishing. In his lap, Pavel was trembling, and the tears that had previously been stationed at the corners of his eyes had escaped, making wet trails down his temples and burying themselves in his hairline. Bones could only imagine that the pain was immense, only to be topped off with a concussion.

“Pavel,” the doctor said quietly but sternly. “I’m going to give you a hypospray. Now, it’s the only one I’ve got, and it’s probably going to make you drowsy. You’re going to have to fight it, okay? You can’t fall asleep, or there’s a chance you won’t be waking up again. Do you understand?” All he received in response was a whimper, and his lips pressed in a thin line. “It’s going to ease the pain a bit, but you’ve got to stay awake. _Do you understand?_ ” Leonard questioned again.

“Da,” Pavel finally whispered, voice wavering much like his thin body. 

Making Jim retrieve the hypo from within his tricorder, the man tilted Chekov’s head slightly to get a better location to shoot him up with the hypo. One hand remained in the young male’s curls while the other grasped the hypo and readied it in its position. “Now, you’re going to feel a bit of a sting.”

With that, he injected the broken ensign with the narcotic.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. McCoy hadn’t been lying about the drowsiness. 

It had hit Pavel like a Klingon bird-of-prey about a minute after the injection. If he had been standing, there was a good chance he would have just toppled over. However, his legs still lay useless in front of him as he stared at them, head still placed gently in his attending physician’s lap. Every time his eyes began to flutter shut, his curls would be tousled with a quiet “you gotta stay awake, kid” reaching his ears.

“It is wery hard to stay avake,” Chekov murmured, tendrils of sleep tugging on him, trying to lull him into unconsciousness.

“So, let’s keep you occupied,” McCoy suggested. How did you keep a paraplegic entertained? He couldn’t take him for a walk, which would usually rouse the spry teenager. The doctor racked his brain for an idea and came up empty-handed. As a last-ditch effort before the male in his grasp dozed off, he inquired, “What can you tell me about yourself?”

“Vhat?”

“What’s there to you? What do you like to do? What’s your family like? Anything to keep your brain busy,” Leonard informed him, rattling off questions in hopes of sparking the conversation needed to keep Chekov from the grip of sleep.

“I really do not… like plants zat much – not like Sulu,” Pavel started out slowly, trying to find thoughts for fodder. “Please do not tell him zat, zough.”

The body he was resting against let out a soft chuckle, and the fingers in his hair began to move again, idly petting. “Secret’s safe with me, kid.”

“Pasha.”

“Pardon?” the CMO questioned, looking down into the grey eyes that glanced upwards. Was that some sort of fancy Russian-speak or something? Leonard prided himself on his outstanding knowledge in the medical field, but languages weren’t exactly his thing.

“Zat is vhat I vould like you to call me, please,” Chekov responded, looking away again, instead staring into the vast orange expanse above them. “It is a diminutive of my name – Pavel.”

“Alright, ki – Pasha,” the older man replied, his own eyes turning up to the sky. At least he was right about it being a Russian thing. “What do you like, if plants aren’t it?”

A small smile graced the navigator’s face as he spoke. “I love ze stars. I love looking at zem, studying zem, mapping zem. I love vorking for Starfleet. I hope zat I can move up in positions as a navigator.”

The passion for his job on the Enterprise was apparent from the tone of his voice and the blissful expression that had plastered itself on his young face. “I’m sure you could be the captain of a starship some day, ki – ah, god, _Pasha_ ,” Leonard corrected himself again. “You’re a genius, you know?”

“So I haff been told,” came the response, smile widening and pulling at McCoy’s own lips. “Zank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It was true, though. The seventeen-year-old had passed all of the aptitude tests with flying colours and at a younger age than all of the other cadets. He was the youngest member on the Enterprise, and Leonard wouldn’t be surprised if he was the youngest in the entirety of Starfleet. “Any other goals in life?”

At that, the grin dropped from the ensign’s face. “Vell, I had alvays vanted to vin a mara’zon.”

The conversation stopped there.


	5. Chapter 5

Every member of the away team had attempted to hail the Enterprise at least once, just to ensure that it wasn’t a problem solely with Kirk’s communicator. Even Chekov, whose communicator was scuffed and scraped from the fall, tried his hand at contacting the starship that was somewhere within orbit. Alas, none of them had luck, but they all assured one another that the Vulcan that was currently acting captain was working diligently with the communications department to establish a connection with them once more.

However, as the hours dragged on and the orange hue of the sky faded to an inky black, their hopes were crumbling.

It had been the captain’s idea to relocate to a spot against the bluff, beneath an overhang of rocks, to avoid the possibility of surprise precipitation getting both them and their equipment wet. There was simply one problem with the plan: transporting their injured crewmember.

Many of the security personnel had offered to carry Pavel and were met with barked warnings from the CMO caring for him. _“If you move him wrong, you might break his back further”_ or _“you want to be responsible for the death of someone?”_ Whatever the admonishment, Leonard was adamant about no one else lying hands on him. 

Instead, he laid the seventeen-year-old on the ground once more, moving from beneath him and standing up. Bending down, he scooped his broken form up as carefully as possible, stopping and readjusting whenever there was a protest. Eventually they had found a position comfortable enough to transport him, the teen’s arms linked around McCoy’s neck to hold himself steady while the rest of the hold was very bridal. Each step taken was slow and deliberate, as to not jar the patient.

When they were all beneath the overhang, Leonard took up the previous position with Pasha, mumbling, “I know it’s not comfortable, but we’ve got to keep your back as straight as we can.”

“It is okay,” Pavel promised, knowing that whatever the doctor had him do would be in his best medical interest. “May I sleep now?”

“Yeah, you should be good now,” came the informed reply as Leonard himself leaned against the wall, eyes drifting shut. The day had been long for all of them, and damn if he wasn’t tired. Beyond him, a few feet away, he could hear Jim implementing a plan for shifts during the night for each person – bar himself and Chekov – to watch over them and keep their phasers trained into the darkness, lest the native beasts be carnivorous. 

It wasn’t long before both males were out like the light from the sky.

\----

No disturbances in the night came from the indigenous creatures, but from the soft whimpering of the youngest crew member. Even in his sleep, the pain coursing through his spine plagued him, and every so often, the person on guard duty would tiptoe over and nudge him gently in the arm, waking Pavel up enough for him to make a conscious effort to quiet himself despite the agony.

Only at the crack of dawn did anyone once again attempt to contact the Enterprise. All of their stomachs were grumbling their displeasure at the period of unintentional fasting, and the rocks and dead grass had found to be insufficient as beds. So, when there was the faintest of a crackle from the other end of the communicator, their hopes were restored – some sort of connection, no matter how weak, was once more founded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connection has been established once more, but the response isn't what they want to hear.

Immediately after the first sign of a reconnection to the Enterprise, Kirk tried to hail once more. “Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.” His voice was quiet but firm as he stood beneath the overhang, looking out across the dying expanse as the orange sky once more filled with light. Chekov still lie with his head in McCoy’s lap, sighing softly in his sleep. The tiny sounds were reaffirming of the fact that the young ensign was still alive despite the injuries he had sustained. The captain had half a mind to step farther away from the sleeping male before repeating himself, “Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.”

The other end of the communicator crackled to life. Veiled by static, Spock’s voice could barely be heard through the small device’s speaker. “This is the Enterprise.”

At hearing his First Officer’s voice, Kirk felt safe to let the captain act slide a bit. “What the hell, Spock? What’s wrong with the comm? Why has no one contacted us? Or, hell, beamed us back up?”

The tone of Spock’s voice, even through the hissing fizzle, belied the fact that one eyebrow raised somewhat condescendingly as it always did when dealing with a frazzled James T. Kirk. “Captain, I assure you that the bridge has been working diligently to reestablish connection. Just now has been the first success. As for beaming the away party up, I am afraid that we are unable to at this time.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t beam us back up?” Kirk responded, struggling to understand the Vulcan through the weak connection. There was always the concern of losing that thread that held their communications together once more. With Chekov in the state that he was, they couldn’t risk wasting any more time.

“This planet’s atmosphere is experiencing an ionic storm and now is charged in such a way that there is a risk of incomplete reassembly of sentient beings’ atoms. There is simply too great a risk of a transporter accident at this time,” the acting captain relayed. He had already tried finding an alternative transporter solution through the help of Scotty. However, the engineering mastermind insisted that the only viable option at this point was to send down a small retrieval craft to pick up the crew stranded on the planetside. “We are arranging for a rescue mission as we speak.”

“Great, just great,” Kirk sighed, running his free hand over his face, pausing to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He could feel the eyes of one of the ensigns on him, but he chose to ignore it. “How long do you think it will be before they arrive on the planet’s surface?”

“That is dependent on your location. At this time, we are unable to locate you due to the ionic interference. Are you close to where you were originally beamed down?”

“Uh, yeah. We’re beneath that cliff right now.”

“Beneath it?”

“Yes. Ensign Chekov tested the planet’s gravity. It is, in fact, much like that of Earth,” Kirk responded. A bit of a chuckle followed, though it was more of just a nervous titter than anything at the expense of the navigator on the ground. The captain spared him a glance, relieved to see that he was still asleep, not having heard the comment. 

“What is his current status?”

“Oh, he’s alive,” Kirk assured the man on the other end. “He’s just a bit… broken. He can’t walk, and Bones was saying something about a possible spinal fracture. He didn’t want to do a full examination without all of his equipment available. If there’s only room for a few of us on the rescue craft, I want Bones and Chekov to go first.”

“Understood.” Spock could be heard alerting someone on the bridge about the situation so the sick bay could be prepped for their return. “The shuttle should arrive within the hour, Captain. Do not move from your current location. Be careful. Enterprise out.” 

With that, the line between the two comm systems was dead once more.

Kirk flipped the comm shut and returned it to its place in his pocket. Turning, he looked over again to Bones and Chekov. From where he stood, about fifteen feet away, he could see McCoy’s fingers idly playing with the soft curls on the broken teen’s head. Chekov still appeared to be sleeping, until Kirk noticed his mouth was moving. The ensign was talking to Bones, just faint enough to where Kirk couldn’t hear him. 

Now free from his conversation, Kirk walked over to the duo. The sounds of his steps must have alerted Chekov to his presence, because the young male opened his eyes, looking up at him. Bones, too, turned his attention to the captain. A weak smile crossed Chekov’s face while the CMO maintained a stoic expression. “So, what’s the news, Jim?”

“Spock’s got some people coming down to the surface to get us. They’ll be here soon, so you guys just gotta hang in there for a little while longer,” Kirk informed the two. Despite the situation, both Bones and Chekov seemed pretty calm. Hell, they were probably just tired. It was obvious that no one on the away party got the best of sleep. Scraggly moss, pebbles, and coarse sand didn’t make for the most comfortable of bedding. 

“They better be gettin’ the bay ready,” Bones grumbled, still toying with the hair that topped the head in his lap. His legs were cramping like nobody’s business, crossed like a pretzel to provide a safe place for Chekov to rest his head. The cross of his shins worked as a traction bar for the navigator’s neck, hopefully relieving pressure from the rest of his spine.

“They are, Bones. They are.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the biggest loser in the world. the chapter is short because my brain is run on potato-battery power, and it comes long after I said that I'd hope to post more regularly.

As Spock had promised, the rescue shuttle had arrived within the hour. Well, at least they were pretty sure it had been an hour. It was hard to track time when there was the possibility of their instruments being off. When the small spacecraft had made its landing a handful of metres away, out of the way of the rocky overhang, relief had flooded over the tense away team. The rescue team shuffled out of the ship, immediately focusing their attention on McCoy and Chekov. Spock had informed them that those two were their top priority, on orders of Captain Kirk.

When one of the ensigns from the rescue team came over and made a move to pick up Chekov, Bones immediately barked out a warning. “Don’t! If you grab him like that, you risk jarring his spine. Come here and hold his head.” Only once the irritated redshirt had a gentle hold on Chekov’s head was Bones able to slide out from beneath him. His legs didn’t want to unbend, feeling stiff and sore. He was getting too old for this shit. Regardless of his gripes, Bones forced his legs to straighten out so he could once again pick up Chekov.

Throughout all of this, Pavel was silent. It was embarrassing, needing so much help. He was seventeen, for the love of it all. Instead, though, he had to be treated like a feeble old man. It was his fault, though, for not watching where he was stepping. If he had just been paying attention, he wouldn’t have stepped on such an unstable part of the cliff, wouldn’t be lying on the ground uselessly.

Chekov was once again held gently but firmly against McCoy’s chest as the doctor, took careful, precise steps towards the rescue shuttle. Each step was a mixture of relief and pain for both parties involved. Leonard’s legs didn’t particularly feel like functioning, protesting the movement after so long in a sitting position. Despite all of the caution Bones took, Chekov could feel a sharp pain in his back. Only once they were both safely and securely on the tiny ship were they - relatively - comfortable.

There was only room for three people from the away mission to board the craft at the time. Kirk sent one of the other attending ensigns on with them, opting to stay behind with the other two while the shuttle returned them to the Enterprise. Ensuring Pavel’s healthy and safety was the most important thing right now, so he didn’t mind having to stay back.

\----

Once on the Enterprise, after safely and procedurally docking the small retrieval craft, the tiny crew and rescued away team had the task of getting Chekov to the med bay. They weren’t too far from the miniature clinic, but it was apparent by not only Chekov’s expression but his nigh imperceptible moans of discomfort and pain that he was not up for being hauled all over again. Instead, McCoy opted to use his communicator to buzz into the bay’s comm, requesting that Nurse Chapel immediately begin bay preparations for an incoming patient - to which she responded that she was already way ahead of him, thank you very much - as well as for an ensign to come to the docking bay with a stretcher as soon as possible.

In the meantime, the doctor stayed with his patient, occasionally brushing the blond curls from his forehead or giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Leonard didn’t say anything as they waited. He wasn’t exactly known for his spectacular bedside manners. Besides, he didn’t believe in giving his patients false hope with murmured “everything will be okay”s and “you’re going to be fine”s. For all he knew, something could go horribly wrong with a simple procedure and then he’d have lied. Especially in Pavel’s case, he wished not to wrong him with empty words. A spinal injury was an extremely delicate matter. Just the slightest movement could be devastating. McCoy had, after all of his years, decided that it was better to be cold and truthful than to lie through his teeth for the sake of smiles.


End file.
